La Vie en Bleu Foncé
by SnowSybaris
Summary: Mutant AU. Chapter 1: Arthur, on a job for Dominic Cobb, unexpectedly ends up purchasing a shapeshifter in Kenya. Story jumps around in time and in between characters. Arthur/Eames, Cobb/Robert. Rating more of a just in case than for any specific content.
1. Arthur and Eames i

**La Vie en Bleu Foncé**

_Prompt at kinkmeme: Eames is an actual shapeshifter, who is being sold off to pay his gambling debts. Arthur realizes what a treasure they're selling off, and picks Eames up at half-price because Eames is a mouthy little bitch. Eames refuses to let Arthur see his real face, though, and it makes Arthur... curious about what he's hiding._

_Even better if Arthur is hiding the fact that he's some sort of mutant too. (GRAVITY DISTORTION, ANYONE?)_

This story is non-linear, and will resemble more a collection of oneshots taking place in the same universe rather than a clear story. There will definitely be romance- that is to say, there will be sex- but I wouldn't call it a romance story. The main characters will be Arthur, Eames, Cobb, Robert, and some Saito. Ariadne and Yusuf will definitely be in it, but somehow while plotting it out it kind of happened like that.

This is massively AU. Basically, yeah, they're mutants. And I've borrowed a lot from, you know, X-men.

* * *

Arthur drew a lot of stares. It wasn't often that they saw someone in a three-piece suit in Mombasa. Not that there weren't rich people here, because there were. Kenya was one of the eight countries that openly allowed mutant sale, a strategic move on the government's part to bring in money, and the bi-monthly auctions drew both gawkers and interested buyers. Looking around, Arthur saw plenty of money- in the flash of someone's cufflinks, the designer logo on someone's sunglasses, the immaculate perm of a woman hanging off the arm of a seventy-something businessman. But only Arthur was wearing a suit.

Arthur liked suits. They were... neat. He was wearing a brandless one right now, because he wasn't here to draw attention. He was just here to buy off all the ones under fifteen- no matter the cost. His employer, Dominic Cobb, was something of a philanthropist. His children were both 'purchases' Arthur had whisked away from the auctions- to his knowledge, the rest had been sent to a private institution.

"Next up-" a young woman, wearing the government-approved white smocks of Kenyan auctions. She had been a part of a resistance group, Arthur could see a tattoo snaking up her ankle. He felt his own throb in faint sympathy. He tried not to think much about it. "Young woman, telepathy and fire affinity, anyone? Anyone for this young woman, going at 31,000,000 shillings, you might want her for psychotherapy or forging work, anyone-"

Not young enough. Looked like a borderline case, actually, her eyes heavily rimmed with kohl to make her more attractive to customers who were looking for sexual services- but it was a lost cause, Arthur judged, frankly and impersonally. She wasn't the type.

It took several minutes for a man built heavily and dressed badly to outbid the others and take her away. She actually came near Arthur at one point, and the right side of his body- the side facing her- tingled slightly, a faint dance of electricity up his arm and flank. She turned her head, but that was the only indication _she _gave, along with a slight widening of her eyes, which were streaming. He could read the brief look on her face, or perhaps he imagined it- envy. _That lucky bastard. He got away._

The next one was too old, perhaps twenty, twenty five, somewhere in between. He was slight of build, his faded blond hair ruffled, his face vague and drooping. Typical drug case. Arthur pocketed his hands and waited, concentrating on blocking out the heat. He had no interest in this one.

"We have a oddball here, ladies and gennulumen!" the man up front said jovially, slapping the young man on his back. He stumbled a little, wove about on his feet pathetically. "Don't be fooled by his milquetoast exterior, our man here has the ability to bulk up in an instant. Perfect for factories, dangerous jobs, and complex labor. He'll snap to it with some encouragement, his past masters have given him shining recommendations. Anyone? Anyone up for a twenty-two year old, strapping young-"

Arthur snapped to attention. His stomach was twisting- _ability to bulk up in an instant?_ Were they kidding? Did they have any idea of what they had in their hands?

Mutants. Complex, complex theory, they'd come up with all sorts of words in its study, but the fact was that most of them started with 'meta'. No one _knew_. But the things was- one of those rules (no rules, really, with mutants- they were unpredictable in their manifestations) was that once you had control of something, you had control of something. No halfway with it. It had taken the idiots eight years to finally figure out that telepaths all had the same powers, there was no degree in strength.

There was no such thing as an ability to gain muscle.

It was too swift, far too swift a decision, he didn't even have time to calculate the cost, how he'd justify it to Dominic, but his hand was up there, there was no taking it back.

A sea of bodies parted for him as he made his way to the stage, ninety seconds later, the young nameless man sold for a price far cheaper than the telepath that had gone before him. Senseless.

Close up, Arthur could see the logic in his appearance. He knew what happened to shapeshifters, mostly- they sold for extravagant prices and weren't let go. No matter how they aged, they could hide it, and were usually sold as- surprise, goddamn fucking surprise, humanity, sex slaves. It wasn't a well-known fact, but most models these days were captive shapeshifters. Was it any wonder that the young man had wanted an easy job, a cheap job- something that wouldn't require-

The young man's eyes flashed as Arthur took him by his arm, steering him down the stairs. Arthur knew he knew that Arthur knew.

"Don't try anything clever." Arthur said frankly. He hadn't decided what to do with him yet. "I still have business here. Stay besides me."

The young man nodded, lank pale hair falling into his homely face. There was nothing on it.

Arthur shrugged, half in annoyance, half in amusement, and waited for the next number to come up.

There were about fifty mutants, and six of them turned out to be under fifteen. On his way back from getting the fourth one, Arthur noticed that the young man had disappeared.

He smiled, grimly amused, and searched around. He didn't have telepathy, but he was good with people. I am a shapeshifter, he thought, with my powers taken away for the moment. My priority is getting to a smith who can get my collar off me, and I have a poncy looking buyer who looks like he couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Where would I be?

He closed his eyes, sighed. Also, I am a compulsive risk taker.

He looked up at the platform again.

Air froze up in his lungs. _Bloody-_ he couldn't afford this. He hadn't figured out how exactly the shifter would fit into his plans, but he was mildly certain that he'd find a place for him somehow. A shifter, after all- the promises- aware that this was the greatest risk he'd taken in several months, Arthur closed his hands together as in prayer, raised them to hip level- hopefully he wouldn't be noticed- and jerked his center of balance a few inches to the left, leaving his hands where they were.

Unnoticed by all except the line of captive mutants that hid him, a shaggy-haired young man was launched bodily away from the line. His body tumbled into the trapdoor of the stage, the commotion drawing a few eyes, but none that cared to look further.

Arthur could imagine the sound the man made as his torso slammed against concrete, underneath the floor.

He was saved the trouble of figuring out how to get him out of _there_ when one of the mutants on the line started a commotion. Fire bloomed from his hands, launched outwards- at the crowd. There were screams, and immediately a few guards leapt into action. A fine spray of mist met the fire at one angle, a blast of wind at another. One of the guards made a motion with her hands and the fire simply sped upwards into the sky.

"TRAITORS!" a young woman at the line screamed shrilly, her eyes bulging. "TRAITORS TRAITORS TRAITORS-"

The audience was stampeding out, except for a not-inconsiderable minority that was fighting the current, trying to stay and see what would happen. Arthur felt himself becoming distanced from the whole thing- it was all right, he'd done the best he could, and when the auction resumed he could come back in a few days to buy the rest of the underage children. The ones he'd already rescued were in the car, and as soon as he got the shifter they could speed away. Back to LA, where Dominic would take care of them. But these despicable people- all these despicable people-

He was aware of the sneer on his own face as he raised his hands again- there was too much chaos for him to be noticed, and he threw himself into the action, shifting gravity into one line of impossibility, catching the shifter in the axis. He heard a cry as a body hit the wood of the platform side, and broke the boards with a snap as Arthur increased force for a second (the man would come out with only a few bruises- Arthur was very good at this.) and decreased it just in time for the man to break into a mild tumble, just at his feet.

"Fuck." he said with bleeding lips.

"Get in." Arthur said. Someone might have noticed.

The man cried out in pain as Arthur threw him in the passenger seat, not just with his hands, but Arthur ignored the sounds as he flung himself into his own seat, taking a second to check the four children he'd squeezed in behind, and hit the pedals.

* * *

Dominic was rich, which was why they got their own jet.

The thing about mutants, Arthur thought, staring out of the window (a misty layer of clouds, a ground falling away from them rapidly) was that they went two ways- two very extreme ways. Either they hid and used their powers in subtle ways and got filthy rich and influential- or they went to places like Kenya.

He couldn't talk to the young man right now. Couldn't believe how badly they'd messed up their plans. Two children still there, by god-

The young man was hunched over himself in his seat. He'd refused food and drink, and was drilling a pale-eyed stare into Arthur's face. Arthur didn't look at him except with mild annoyance. Although he'd had his collar taken off, he hadn't shifted back, seeming to prefer the body. Arthur vaguely wondered if it was his real one, and discarded the idea. It didn't fit.

He called Dominic as soon as he was able, knowing it was 2am there but knowing that he'd want updates.

A groggy voice answered him from the other end. "'lo?"

"Dom."

"Arthur." the voice changed immediately, and it suddenly sounded like Dominic had picked up his phone in the middle of a business meeting, selachian intensity and sharp interest. "How did it go?"

"I lost two." Arthur said shortly, his failure ringing in his teeth. "There was a disruption. The auction will resume in four days. Under heavier security."

Dominic hissed through his teeth and Arthur imagined him, sitting upright in his bed- it would be a half-moon there right now, moderate cloud cover, so it would be rather dark. Robert would be sleepily murmuring something. A happy life shaken up with this disappointment. He quaked. "I suppose- that's doable."

"It is." Arthur hastened to assure him. "Of course I'll go back."

"It might not be safe." Dominic said, but they both knew Arthur would go back. "Too many visits..."

"The visits aren't the problem." Arthur said, aware that all five people in the plane were listening in on his conversation. Even the young, dark-haired twins who seemed to be sleeping. He ignored, again, the shifter's intent stare. "Your institution- how is it holding up under the population strain?"

"Same old." Dom said. "There's no danger there. You know the place is in the middle of my estate."

And that estate was vast. But still- all they needed was one accident. One civilian witness.

"We'll talk more when we get there." Arthur said, and hesitated. He could keep this until he reached LA, but- "One thing. Dom."

"Mm?" Arthur heard Robert's voice in the background, fuzzy anxiety, _is everything okay?_ Dominic's answer, _yes, go back to sleep._

"There's been a- a twist. To our plans." and because Dominic didn't like dithering, Arthur plunged on with it. "I have- someone else with me. A shifter." No need to tell him the shifter had disrupted all their plans by inciting some of the others to riot. Releasing them from their collars. He must have learned some very classified technology- something Arthur fully intended to probe him about when they got back.

"Shifter?" Dominic said. "Really? My god. They never really get captured, do they?"

Everyone within several meters could hear Dom's voice. The shifter certainly could, Arthur knew, and watched the man grit his teeth. "Nearly uncatchable." he agreed peacefully. "Unless they're really stupid."

"I think you did right." Dominic said, and Arthur was glad he was sitting down, because his knees just about melted with relief. "Let's talk when we get back."

Arthur murmured an affirmative into the phone and disconnected. Stood up, adjusted his tie, looked around. "Time to get to sleep, everyone." he said. "Even you two, I know you aren't really sleeping. By LA time it's in the middle of the night."

"We're- going to LA?" one of them said, a skinny Asian boy who looked to be about eleven.

"LA, and then another man's going to take you to your new home." Arthur said authoritatively, ignoring the shifter's small snort.

"I need to- get back to my family." the Asian boy said. "I- they're somewhere in-"

Arthur stared at him. Didn't stare him down, but he looked away anyway. Perhaps he knew, but was just denying it. "'Somewhere in'."

An awkward silence fell over them. Even the shifter looked away, placing his chin on his knees, his eyes narrowing in a brief look of- the most expression Arthur had seen on him except for quite eloquent pain- quiet fury.

He knew it wasn't easy on any of them. He tried to smile, but his hand darted up to his tie again- good lord, Arthur, fine way to tell them you're nervous- "You'll be fine." he said, knowing that his words rang empty. Nothing would be really _fine _for a long time. "And we'll be turning off the lights now."

He left.

Two minutes later, he wasn't surprised to be cornered by the shifter in front of the bathroom. He wasn't intimidated- he knew he could slam this man into the ceiling before he could shift into a lethal form. "Yes?" he said.

"You're not a telekinetic." the man said. "I've worked with telekinetics before. They can't do what you did."

"I'm not." Arthur agreed. Was it simple curiosity on this man's end? And he really had to find out his name. "My name is Arthur." he stuck out his hand. Even if he had ruined all their plans, there was no sense in alienating him.

The man stared at his hand, and his nostrils flared a bit. He shifted, into a woman- Arthur hid his surprise. Had he misjudged, after all? There was really no way to tell. He studied her delicate bones and large dark eyes and neat red hair swept up into a bun. "My name is Eames." she said.

Eames was lying, but Arthur drew in his breath through his nose and decided it didn't matter. There was so much he needed to say- are you with us? Are you Resistance? Why were you caught to begin with? Who are you? Behave yourself when you meet my boss. "I'd like to request that you stick with one form for the duration of- our acquaintance." he said. "Unless it's business. It's disorientating."

Eames arched an eyebrow. "Business? What business?"

"I did buy you." Arthur said.

"'Ah." she said. There was something dangerous in her voice now. "And you think I owe you something?"

A pause.

"Quite definitely." Arthur said.

"If you hadn't bought me," Eames said, "Some oaf who needed me in a factory or something would have. They'd take off my collar, put me in some 'secure' place- probably a pit, they tried that last time. Even a strong guy can't get out of a pit, right? But a beetle can. You didn't buy me to help me. You bought me because you need a shifter. Or because I might be a bit useful."

"I think you'll be very useful." Arthur said. "It's an offer. If you really want to go, there's no way we can stop you."

Eames raised her other eyebrow, and then folded her arms. In a seamless second she was a he, this time a tall, tan man with dark rough hair tied back. His left ear was studded, his jaw rough with stubble. He had thin, disapproving lips- modeled after Arthur's own, he figured after a few seconds of scrutiny. He had a joker here.

"What's the offer?" he said.

* * *

Unlike most of the businessmen Arthur had met, Dominic's appearance projected power before it did money. He wasn't a particularly big man, but he walked like- well, he _stalked_, a muted, angry confidence hidden in his movements.

The kids definitely looked a bit intimidated as he drew close. Although Dominic was still in his thirties- Arthur was sure of that- his hair was thickly woven with silver. He wore a severe expression on his face- his face seemed made for stern intensity, although Arthur had seen him (more rarely than he'd have liked) smiling. He wasn't smiling now.

His eyes were on the shifter.

Oh.

It was stupid of him to have assumed that Dom wouldn't find out. Of course he would have looked up what had gone wrong in Mombasa.

"Your name is Everett Poole." he said quietly, mindful of the children and the milling civilians. "And you have possibly set back mutant-civilian relations back a full six months."

"No." Eames- Poole? said, crossing his arms, matching Dominic's cold gaze without flinching.

"No what?"

"No, Everett Poole is not my name. Also, there is no such thing as mutant-civilian relations. Same reason there weren't black rights in colonial Africa."

Arthur looked between them. "Dom, let's- take this- somewhere private-"

"Of course." Dominic said, and then looked at him for one brief second to assure him that he wasn't angry. "And meanwhile- children- you'll have to wait a few hours to talk to someone, ascertain if you have somewhere to go back to. If not, we'll start the process to integrate you into this country, if you aren't a citizen. Let's go."

They were led to a bus, a touristy-looking one that didn't have any ads on it on a second glance. The children filed into the back, chatting quietly among themselves.

"You can call me Eames." said the shifter, settling into his seat. He looked out the window, and Arthur thought he saw something flash across his face- a bit like relief. A continent away from the place he'd been made a slave. Back where mutant trafficking was illegal. Understandable.

"For the sake of convenience." Dominic agreed, his back stiff. "Answer me straight. Are you with the Resistance?"

Arthur didn't move an inch of his body.

The shifter smiled, moving just his lips to do it. He reached down, pulled his trouser leg up, showing a hirsute, completely unmarked leg. He had difficulty with the last few inches, but managed to pull the hem over his knee. Still nothing.

"Other leg."

"Chrissakes. I'm a forger, you know it doesn't matter shit." Eames muttered, obliging all the same.

"Resistance doesn't hide itself." Dominic said. "And you especially have no reason to lie. Even if you were, we'd let you go."

Ah, the first lie. Arthur didn't blink and give Dom away. The games had begun.

Eames smirked, and this expression reached his eyes. "Like hell." he said. "I know your type. Suits and suites and money, lots of it, and they never know, do they, any of them? While the rest of us bleed out on the streets? You and your little League, pen over sword, Gandhi over Bismarck, all that fucking rot- maybe it'll work, maybe it won't, but _I care _that I freed four people in that auction. That's four people who aren't going to die."

Dominic had gone very still. Arthur felt cold all over. League. The League? It could have been just- coincidence-

"Oh yeah, I know." Eames snorted, leaning back. "It's pretty obvious, you know? Last week Margot Charleston did this cute little fundraiser for mutant rights, and there are an awful lot of rich businessmen and politicians who are oddly insistent on shutting down human trafficking. Some of them are subtle. You sure are, Mr. Cobb, because you aren't dead yet. Still stupid, though- saving kids? Sending out the same man to do it every time? Planting them in the middle of your land, wherever it is, hiding them away, protecting them, teaching them how to fit in with the elite so they can continue on your work? So much can go wrong with that, don't you think?"

Dominic didn't blink. Neither did Arthur. In the next second, Eames' entire body was straining against his seat, the air being squeezed out of his lungs.

They'd acted as one person, and Arthur slowly let go of his own chokehold, because Dominic had it now. Eames' lips were growing a little blue, but he made no attempt to break away, instead grinned at Cobb like it was some game, even as his eyes bulged out.

Cobb let go within a minute. His expression was distant. Arthur held his breath.

Eames took a few seconds to regain his breath. Arthur noted that he made casually made small changes in his own physique to do so. Very talented shifting. "Good, Dominic. Now I know everything about you."

"Please, your melodrama is killing me." Dominic said in a monotone. "Get to your point."

"I'm not sure I have one." Eames said, and turned his face to the window and started whistling.

Arthur shook his head. He couldn't help it.

"Then what is it that you want?" he asked. Dominic looked at him, but without rebuke.

"Sex." Eames answered promptly.

Arthur sighed. "Please."

"I hope you're not looking for a philosophical answer." Eames said, leaning back. "You really should be straight with people. You don't want to know what I want. You want to know what it is that I might be interested in acquiring that you can give me, either for my services or my silence."

"Both would be nice." Arthur said.

"Done." Eames said.

Dominic blinked, but watched the exchange between them without interrupting.

Arthur frowned at him. "Your terms?"

"Bed and board, decent food. No selling me out to people if they come looking for me." Eames shrugged. "As causes go, yours aren't too shabby."

Dominic closed his eyes in what might have been satisfaction, but Arthur hoped it wasn't. Eames was almost certainly lying about a lot of things. "You'll be talking to our resident telepath when you arrive. Standard questioning."

"Naturally." Eames said, stretching back. "I warn you, I'll give her more a headache than she's expecting."

* * *

"Fucking hell." Ariadne snarled, drawing back in her chair. Eames opened his eyes from where he was lying down on the couch, his legs crossed. His mouth- still the one modeled from Arthur- twisted in what looked like wry amusement. "What the blistering fuck?"

"Something wrong?"

"It's chaos there. Do you think like that all the time? Do you have, some disorder or something?" Ariadne said, rubbing her eyes.

"Not one I was diagnosed with when I wasn't fiddling around with my brain structure, no. Not to my knowledge." Eames said. "I'll have you know I've successfully convinced about forty five different doctors that I've had forty five different psychological conditions."

"Thank you." Ariadne said witheringly, taking a sip of water. "Dear god. Do you- really think like that? All the time?"

"Like how?" Arthur said, getting a bit frustrated.

"It's like his thoughts are- layered over each other." Ariadne said. "He's not thinking just one thing at the same time. They all roll around. Damn."

"We're all thinking about different things at the same time to some extent." Eames said gently, sounding a little chagrined. "I apologize, I was trying to make a point to my keeper here."

Arthur massaged his nose. "What point did you make that was worth giving our best telepath a migraine?"

"You can't ever tell if I'm lying." Eames said. "And I'm hoping that the fact I didn't try to deceive you counts in my favor."

"It doesn't." Arthur said, put out, because the way Eames was looking at him was- disruptive. "And for god's sake _can you please change those damn lips?"_

Ariadne, holding a hand to her forehead, looked first at him, then at Eames' face, and then back, and burst out into loud, rolling laughter.

* * *

To Arthur's considerable disgruntlement, Eames seemed to be able to charm everyone else in a rather similar fashion.

He took on a new body- and it was disconcerting, speaking to what appeared to be several different people and having to remember they were just one person. At least he was still a he, this time a shorter, slightly stocky man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with bright green eyes and dark red, slightly curly hair and an amiable smile. A kind of next-door neighbor look.

"Mm." he said, after being led to his new quarters. The children and Dominic were on their way to what Eames was calling, in a hoarse, deeper voice that was probably meant to be funny in mock-melodrama, _thar secret place._ It wasn't funny at all. "I've never been anywhere with so many mutants in the same place. Good god, the crackling- I can feel it all over my body."

Arthur, who'd met everyone already, had forgotten that Eames would probably be overwhelmed by the new signatures. The electric tingle that brushed over your skin when you approached a mutant you'd never met for the first time- experienced in large doses, tended to leave one numb. Or so he'd heard. Arthur had been mostly immune to such sensations by the time he'd known it was a scientific phenomenon. He made a noncommittal little noise.

"I do have a question." Eames said, stripping out of his clothes like Arthur wasn't _right there_. Arthur stiffly turned away. "Dominic Cobb. What's with him? I could feel his dark vibes from twenty paces and I'm not even an empath."

"Thought you knew everything about him." Arthur said, perhaps snottily, but he was strung out from having been near this man for seven hours or so. He'd gone from reticent to sullen to annoyingly cheery since he'd arrived here. Apparently he cared about making a good impression on everyone except Arthur.

"I know everything about him that I need to know to kill him, or sell him out, or die for him." Eames said, in one of those brutally honest spurts he had that made Arthur feel like he'd been outmaneuvered on a chessboard by a bishop, barreling out in a straight line out of nowhere. "But I don't know why. Can you tell me, or does he have one of those insanely private tragic pasts I'll need to be near him when he's dying to find out?"

Arthur hunched over himself. He didn't pretend to understand Dominic's vendetta- it went beyond simple philanthropy, seemed to devour the man, spit him out in bloody pieces of broken, shuddering anger. He'd been worse, much worse, when Arthur had first met him- when Dominic had bought him in that Cuban market, his eyes dark with some hidden violence. It had taken him a few days to understand that the anger wasn't directed at him.

"It's not my story to tell." he said shortly.

Eames shrugged, and turned a green gaze like razors onto him. Arthur swallowed and reminded himself that they probably weren't his real eyes. "And you? Do you have one of them? Insanely private pasts?"

"No." Arthur said. "I had a normal life. I still keep in touch with my parents. They don't know what I'm doing, though."

Eames quirked his lips at him. "I didn't say it was any of my business."

Arthur looked away.

* * *

Forty six days later, Arthur met Eames again. This time on the job. Unfortunately for Arthur, not as enemies.

* * *

Reviews are always welcome.


	2. Robert i

Very boring gen chapter.

* * *

He's sixteen. Clever, but too young to do this, too young to run for long.

He doesn't have any contacts. A lot of amiable acquaintances scattered over the globe, but no real friends, he realizes, no one he can really rely on when he's in trouble. Suddenly, they're not 'Helen' and 'Guilford' anymore, they're 'my dad's friends' children'. His heart is in his throat as he wildly looks around. There's a storm coming in, and he's not sure how much of it is his fault.

Robert Fischer has never felt so powerless in his life.

He's always been told he's intelligent, although he's not quite sure how true that exactly is. He's always been fairly certain he'll be able to overcome any adversity sent his way, but he'd never dreamed he'd become one of- one of 'those people', whom Maurice Fischer says are worse than hippies. In his mind, he's always pictured himself gliding through a boring but easy life.

Pinwheels that suddenly started spinning wildly in his viscinity has no place in that picture.

He looks around again, and a sudden panic grips his throat again when he sees a car. Robert knows cars, but not in the way a mechanic or a buyer does. He knows them the way a passenger does, an instinctive _that's my sort of car _instinct that settle into rich children when they're young. The street is mostly empty, two or three vehicles passing by every minute or so, and he can see this one coming for him several minutes before it arrives.

He stares up at the sky, apprehension roiling in his gut. He wonders, with a terror so deep that it seems to remove him from his body, if he could kill- with this power of his. He's seen them on TV, they're a growing issue these days. He remembers one of them arching her spine, her face a mask of rage, and raising one arm, plucking pistols from the hands of the police without touching them. Could he do that? If he concentrates, could he just-

Reach out like this, hurl that car away from the road-

He doesn't mean to. He doesn't even mean to, but it seems that his panic acts for him, and the terror that's been growing in him since he saw that black speck on the horizon, from this bus stop in nowhere, spits out of his body and tears up the air, hurling up fallen leaves as it goes, tearing fresh ones from trees. Robert hunches down, covers his face, and rocks. His father would be ashamed. So ashamed of him for showing this kind of terror, but he's terrified.

He's alone. And he thinks he's about to kill someone right now.

It's a full four minutes later when someone touches him on the shoulder.

Robert flinches, and his whole body moves like a snapped string. He finds his uppercut blocked neatly by an expensive dove-gray suit sleeve, and when he attempts to sweep the man's legs out from under him, winds battering at both of them, the man angles his legs so that the kick goes awry, he finds himself stupidly tangling himself up in the man's limbs.

"Goodness." someone comments mildly, and offers him a hand. Robert, his head ringing on the concrete, stares blankly up. "You have performed quite a number on my car."

"Who are you?" he says, and he doesn't know if he's sobbing or not. Everything's numb. "Who sent you? Did my dad- is he taking me back?"

There is a silence with a gentle pressure about it. The man runs a hand down the front of his suit, absently straightening it out. He's Asian, Robert sees, youngish, and his eyes- are very dark. He somehow can't take his eyes off them. "I'm afraid, Mr. Fischer, that I am not your father's envoy." he says, and his voice is heavily accented. Robert thinks about turning his face into the concrete, but doesn't. The man's eyes are very dark. He can think of little else. "I am, however, here to take you to safety."

"I don't understand." Robert says, but the words feel perfunctory. He doesn't mean them at all. He's floating, those dark eyes fixed on his.

"You are going to sleep, Mr. Fischer." he is answered, and he finds himself wanting to protest- he is not Mr. Fischer. That's his dad. He's Robert. Or Robbie, but he's too old for Robbie now, and his father forbade anyone from calling him that. Even his mother when she was dying. "Ah, I see. I apologize. Robbie. You are going to sleep, Robbie. And when you awaken, you will be ready to answer some questions. You will be upset, but you will want to cooperate."

Robert nods. The man's eyes seem to expand, rotate, and he feels his head thud back on the concrete again, but it's not important. "Okay."

The man considers him for a moment. "Go to sleep now."

He obeys.

* * *

He's being woken up, rather gently. Someone's placed a headphone around his head, and there's music on, something vaguely French, classic-sounding and warbling. The volume's being cranked up slowly, and it's getting a little louder than is comforting right now. He yanks them off.

He's in a plane.

"I'm awake." he says. He meets eyes with a man- Asian, and that jogs something in his memory, but it's not the same person. Whoever it was. It all seems rather vague, somehow. "Where are we headed?"

"Japan." the man says. Yes, it's not the- other man, whoever he was, because this one's English is flawless, no accent. "Would you like a drink? Food?"

He is hungry, but has no desire to eat. "A glass of water would be nice. Thanks." he says politely.

He looks around for the other man, the one whose features he doesn't quite recall except for the eyes- but that's a stupid thing to home in on, right, Asians all did have dark eyes. It seems urgent, somehow, that he meet with him. He has an overwhelming desire to answer his questions.

As it turns out, the man who walks in with his water is he. Taking a sip- he is too young yet to take a better glance at the water, as he will start doing in a few months- he stares at the man, who is starting to look a little familiar.

"I'm sorry about your car." he blurted. "I- don't really remember-"

"And I beg you not to, that remembrance might be enough to bring on another attack." he was answered. "You really need to learn some control, Robbie."

Robert frowns. "It's Robert."

"Ah well, I suppose you aren't in the same state of mind anymore." the man murmurs. "For your information, my name is Saito."

That's the exact moment Robert realizes he can't go back to his old life. The name jogs something, and now he remembers having met Saito before, at several occasions, Maurice Fischer's _keep your enemies closer_ policy. He'd even attended Robert's fifteenth birthday, if he recalled correctly. Saito's not afraid to tell him who he is, and he's already revealed his abilities to him- the hypnosis wasn't exactly subtle- which means Saito has no fear that Robert's going to run back to his dad and tell everyone. And men like Saito, men like Maurice, don't act riskily like that unless they have a reason.

He closes his eyes.

"Now please." Saito says. "We will discuss some very, ah, worldly issues before moving on to the matter of your security and education."

"You want to know about my dad's business." Robert states, sitting back and feeling tired. "I don't know anything. He never talks to me about business."

"I'm sure a man like Maurice Fischer talks to his son only about personal and emotional issues." Saito says, amused.

The man who woke him up with the French song opens his mouth. "He's telling the truth."

Robert looks at him. I'm in a room full of mutants, he thinks. Wow. I've never...

"Personal details will suffice." Saito says. "I apologize beforehand for probing you about this, but-" their eyes meet, and Saito's eyes seem to be mouths. Robert freezes up. "Tell me about your mother."

* * *

"Personally, I feel that a few minor breaches of privacy are worth exchanging for a guarantee of security for the next four years as well as education." Saito says, taking a sip from his glass. Robert sticks with his water. "But do you disagree? Do you feel exploited?"

Robert looks out of the window. He feels empty, but not exploited. "No."

"Your new name is Gerard Post." Saito remarks, leaning back in his chair, staring at Robert. "It is a temporary arrangement. Within a few months I will be able to find a slot to fit you in where you can keep your first name, if you prefer."

While Robert's adolescent mind takes _slot to fit you in_ and runs away briefly, the rest of him's steady enough that he notices the insinuation- the briefest of insinuations- that he might be one in a list of mutants Saito has rescued. And, he thinks, why not? Saito's motives are clear here- mutants banding together. He wonders if he'll be forced into some kind of military thing, if he'll one day be on TV, the kind of protester his dad makes snide remarks about.

He rubs his chin. Saito's still waiting for an answer. "I'd like to keep Robert."

Whatever he'll be made to do, he knows he can't go back, anyway.


End file.
